Are You Frightened?
by washedupseaweed
Summary: Aragorn protected Frodo and led him toward Rivendell, but when Frodo is mortally wounded by the Morgul's blade, Aragorn is compelled to stand by the young Hobbit. Eventual non-smut, non-sex slash.
1. Compelled

**A/N: This is set in a slightly modified movie universe, during the Fellowship of the Ring. I hope you enjoy the first chapter of my LotR adventure! I only saw the movie for the first time today, but this potential relationship gripped me from the start. Please read and review, if you're so inclined. A warning, though - this will be slash, at some point, though not terribly smutty slash.**

"Are you frightened?" he'd asked, a wild look in his eyes.

"Yes," Frodo admitted, and there was trepidation in his voice.

"Not nearly frightened enough. I know what hunts you." And he drew his sword on the Hobbits that had run in.

_Are you frightened?_ It repeated in his head, over and over. Was Frodo frightened of Strider, the Ranger that protected him? He seemed to know far too much about the ring he bore, its story. He was too eager to accompany them out of the inn and into the Wilds, to lead them to Rivendell.

_Are you frightened?_ Yes. Yes, he was. Frightened of his future, of the ring that called to him at every instant, of the wraiths that hunted him, of just about everything around him except this Man, Strider. He radiated assurances of loyalty, fealty to the carrier of the One Ring. Still, it seemed odd that a Ranger that they had never met would suddenly be willing to leave and guide a group of Hobbits, Hobbits he knew were being hunted by creatures he feared more than Frodo himself did.

_Are you frightened? _More than he ever had been in his life. Facing down the wraiths, Frodo knew he was right to fear them.

* * *

Aragorn heard the inhuman wail that rang from Frodo's throat as he flew into battle, wielding torch and steel against the half-dead Kings. Once they were chased off, he realized that the wound was even deeper than he knew. The wound inflicted by a Morgul blade was well beyond what he was capable of, and he had to carry the young Ringbearer to Rivendell or he would surely perish. Still, the weight of the young Hobbit in his arms, the gravity of the situation, hung heavily on him as he rode, the hooves of his horse pounding into the earth.

He was growing weaker by the second, and colder. Aragorn knew that if some miracle of the forest did not come to their aid, Frodo - and with him, all the hopes of Middle Earth - would perish by the Morgul blade. When Arwen came from the forest, a massive wave of relief crashed over him. He could ride with Frodo in his arms, as fast as his horse would carry them, until they reached Rivendell. Arwen would protect the Hobbits, and then they could be together.

Arwen's stubbornness would be the death of him, and so he was forced to walk along behind with the Hobbits, putting up with their stupidity and constant eating. All the while he worried for the health of the Ringbearer. The little Hobbit was dying, and quickly. It was clear to Aragorn that Frodo would be in agony for a long while yet, until the Elves could heal him.

Or until he perished.

No use dwelling on that, while he needed his attention focused on Samwise and the pair of morons tussling before him. His thoughts of Frodo had to be reserved for nightfall. In the next few days, they could expect horses that would carry the four to Rivendell with all speed. Maybe if he could confirm the health of the Ringbearer …

Why was he so concerned? Certainly it was important for the young Hobbit to live on, but he had no reason to worry as intently as he did. Someone else could bear the Ring in Frodo's stead - Samwise, perhaps, or Legolas. Their hopes did not lie in Frodo alone, that was certain.

Still, he longed to ensure that Frodo would see another day. The little one was a unifying force for the Fellowship, and more than that, Aragorn found that he … cared for him, in a way he had not cared for another being beside Arwen. Not anything remotely like what he felt for Arwen, of course, but he felt himself drawn to Frodo in some irresistible way.

When he rode into Rivendell astride a well-wearied horse, Pippin clinging to the horn of the saddle for dear life, he stormed through the city of his childhood in search of Frodo. Many elves he passed tried to give him greeting, but Aragorn refused to heed them, instead flying up the hallowed paths until he finally discovered the room where Frodo was being kept.

He was alive, at least, and mending. At least his skin was not so pale and clammy as it was when Aragorn had carried him last. "Little one," he whispered, hesitating in the doorway.

"We have saved him. Eventually, he will be hale again, but not for many days, weeks. The wound was great," Elrond murmured from beside Aragorn. It did not matter much how great the wound was, as long as Frodo would heal with time and attentive care

"I will guard him," he told Elrond, his eyes never leaving the unconscious Hobbit's face. "If anything changes, I will call." Elrond nodded, obviously sensing the conflict in Aragorn's voice. The elf lord left, and Aragorn instantly knelt beside the bed. His hands grasped Frodo's, dwarfing his small fingers, enveloping them.

Three long days he knelt beside that bed, chasing away those who asked after anything but Frodo's health, eating nothing, sleeping only when Elrond came to minister to the wound. Each day he swore he saw more movement in the young Hobbit - his eyelids fluttered, the tips of his fingers twitched, his knee bent the slightest fraction. Obviously, his exhaustion was making his vision unreliable, as he knew Elrond was keeping the Hobbit sedated with herbs until they were certain he was healing. Still, it was a comfort to imagine that he would soon be awake and talking.

"He will awaken soon. The healing will progress as well as can be expected. Please, Aragorn, eat and rest. I will watch the Halfling in your stead," Elrond pleaded. His voice was gentle, lacking the force of others who had tried to pry him from his watch. Still, he could not rest until he was certain Frodo would awaken from his drugged slumber.

"I have waited long enough. Another hour will not harm me," he replied, his eyes trained on Frodo's face still. If he so much as blinked, the Hobbit could pass into the Shadows yet.

"You waver where you kneel, and if you allow weakness to overtake you, we shall all suffer. Death will not come to his bedside while you slumber. A pallet can be brought here for you, if you dare not depart from this room. Save your strength for when it is truly necessary," Elrond told him, with an authority that he had not the will to disobey.

As quickly as he could manage, Aragorn ate a bowl of hearty stew, drank several glasses of much-needed water, and laid out on the pallet, trying to find sleep as best as he could. It came quickly, from his exhaustion, though he would have much rather stayed vigilant beside Frodo.

* * *

It seemed like only moments he had slept when a quiet word awoke him. "Strider?" That voice was unmistakable. The mere sound of it dragged him from his rest and made him sit bolt upright.

"Frodo?" He was awake, then? Or was all this merely a dream, and the Hobbit had already perished.

"You should have let him sleep, Mr. Frodo. Strider didn't leave this room once for the past four days, no matter what he said to him otherwise," Samwise scolded, setting a bowl of broth on the table beside Frodo's bed.

"Four days? How long did I sleep?" he exclaimed, bowing his head.

Samwise pondered for a moment, counting on his fingers. "I reckon it was about eleven hours. Mr. Frodo here has been in and out of sleep all that time, but Elrond told us not to wake you. You can go back to sleep now, if you'd like. I can still see the weariness under your eyes."

"I am sorry I slept. I would have stayed awake, but I was forced into sleep. Do you need anything?" Much to his chagrin and anger, Samwise started to laugh at him, and Frodo smiled weakly.

"Go back to sleep, Strider. There are other people here to care for me, even though I've told them to leave me be," Frodo murmured weakly. He was still so pale, so sickly, and whatever force drew Aragorn to the Hobbit told him that he should not rest when he looked so unwell.

"I will guard you, little one, until you are whole again." And the laughter continued. "Samwise, you may leave us be," Aragorn insisted, his voice darkly protective. Grudgingly, Samwise left the room, with many mutters of 'crazy Ranger' and 'don't know why we brought him in the first place'.

With a quiet grunt, Aragorn rose and approached the table, picking up the bowl of warm amber broth. "Are you hungry, little one?" he asked gently.

"No, Strider, I'm not, and you really ought to rest. I can see the exhaustion all over your face. You all are worrying far too much about me. I'll be alright, really. I promise." The contrast between Frodo's optimistic words and his pitiful voice was almost laughable. Laughable, except for the gravity of the situation.

The bowl clattered loudly onto the table, broth spilling out onto the pristine wood. "Why must you all insist that I sleep, when every fragment of my being tells me to guard you with my life? I flew with the speed of one possessed to arrive here, driving your friends mad with my fervor, until we reached Rivendell. I sat at your bedside and dared not blink for fear of losing you. Why, Frodo Baggins, do you compel me so? This I cannot say, but know you well that I will not sleep while you still ail," Aragorn growled, and his face was a portrait of blank anger.

Frodo stared up at him, confused, his eyelids already starting to droop with exhaustion. "Alright, alright. I'll cease bothering you to sleep. But will you promise me that you'll sleep when I do? We need your strength, Strider, and I don't want you wasting away with watching me." To that, Aragorn nodded, simply to assuage the poor Hobbit.

Though he had every intention of laying out on his pallet and fulfilling his promise to Frodo, his body refused to obey him. His fingers clenched the blankets, his knees locked into place on the floor. Some dominant part of him simply would not let him leave the bedside to seek his own comfort. Still, the exhaustion overtook him, and he fell asleep where he knelt, one of his hands finding its way to rest atop Frodo's.


	2. Restrained

**A/N: Welcome to chapter two of Are You Frightened, my first adventure into Lord of the Rings fan fiction. I hope you enjoy!**

Aragorn was awakened by a hand shaking his shoulder, gently at first, but growing more rough as he did not stir. His body longed for more sleep, clung to the last fragments of unconsciousness for as long as possible. "Strider? Strider, are you alright? Come now, Strider, wake up. Mr. Frodo's been up for ten minutes now, and I've been trying to rouse you all this time. You can't sleep forever, not there, you can't! Oh, come, at least let me take you to the pallet, so you can be a little more comfortable," Samwise urged, starting to drag Aragorn across the floor as best he could.

Finally, he stirred, shaking his head quickly to clear it of sleep. "Yes? Does Frodo need something?" he mumbled, with a confused blink or two.

Sam laughed loudly. "No, Mr. Frodo doesn't need anything, but you fell asleep there on the floor, and I came in after leaving you two be for a coupla hours, figuring that the two of you were gonna be alright on your own, and I come in thinking you were dead where you kneeled, Strider. You sure you're going to be fine there? I think you oughta come along with me and leave Mr. Frodo to rest a little more."

Even through the haze of sleep, Aragorn could feel rage. "How many times do I have to tell you morons - I do not want to leave, I do not want to sleep! Can you not take me at my word and let me deal with my confusion on my own? Do you think I understand why I starve myself and deny myself anything but the merest moments of sleep at the bedside of a mere Hobbit? Do you think this is what I want? Let me be, Samwise Gamgee, or you will feel the worse for it," he snarled, with as much anger as he could muster when his body was still trying to pull him back to sleep.

The overly protective part of his mind, the thoughts that guided him towards Frodo at every moment, would not let him sleep again, that much he knew. This marked the second time he had failed his friend by sleeping when he should be keeping watch. His weakness saddened and disappointed him; after all, he could fight hordes of men and beasts without rest for hours, ride through the wilderness for days with little effort, and yet Aragorn could not stay awake to guard a friend who had just turned away from Death's door?

Frodo made an attempt to sat up and hissed aloud from pain. When Aragorn tried to reach up and help him, the Hobbit slapped the offending hands away with his uninjured arm. "Strider, you don't need to be so worried about me. I'm going to be alright. Elrond has told me so. They healed me. They pulled the bits of sword from my shoulder and now I'm on the mend. Could you rest yourself, for me? I worry about you, too, you know," Frodo reminded him.

The Ringbearer was actually telling him to sleep - ordering him, even - and yet he could not let himself do it. "If I sleep, you may be hurt again. You may need something, or you may grow feverish and ill. I cannot slumber with that uncertainty in my head. My mind will not let me," he admitted weakly. Now, not only was he trying to fight himself for the right to sleep, but Frodo and Samwise were both going to think he had lost his grip on sanity.

Frodo murmured, "I'm not going to go anywhere. I swear to you, Strider, that if you sleep, you will wake to find me exactly where you left me. Please, just rest. Or at least have something to eat." His quiet, pleading voice was breaking the resolve of Aragorn's determined protectiveness, and finally, he nodded, slowly, hesitantly.

"That's just what I wanted to see," Samwise chuckled as Aragorn shuffled over to the pallet, his legs too sore from kneeling to stand and carry his weight. Perhaps they were right. He was wasting his strength, wasn't he, on the little Hobbit lying there, his shining blue eyes half-closed, smiling broadly -

Before confusing thoughts could bog him down in the land of the conscious, Aragorn laid out and dropped his head onto the pillow. He was asleep at once.

* * *

Troubled.

Aragorn had had confusing dreams, filled with dark hallways and empty cages. He knew not what they foreboded, but it would be miserable, that much was certain, judging by the unlit journey he made through his own mind.

"Frodo?" he mumbled as he awoke - a habit, by that point. "Frodo? Frodo!" Suddenly, he was gripped with panic. He had promised, hadn't he, that he wouldn't go anywhere … unless someone had forced him. Kidnapped him. Or worse, he had ….

"Frodo! Where are you, Frodo!" he screamed, tearing out of the room and down the hallway. "Frodo!" No answer, not until his sprinting brought him to the nearby gardens, where Frodo was sitting in the lap of a strange elf, his shoulder in a stiff splint. "Frodo, where on Earth have you been?" he asked in a voice that was closer to a wail.

The young Hobbit attempted to turn around to see who had come in, but was limited by the obvious pain he was in. "Ah, Strider, you're awake. Out enjoying the afternoon sunlight? You slept for so long I was starting to get worried about you, but then Elrond gave me permission to come out here, if I was carried, and I figured you could use another hour's rest," Frodo explained, giving a sweet smile.

Without a word, Aragorn put a hand under Frodo's knees, ignoring the complaints of the elf beneath him, braced the splint that wrapped around his back, and scooped the Hobbit up in his arms. "You broke your promise, little one," Aragorn all but snarled.

"What promise? Oh … oh, Strider, I didn't even think of it when Elrond let me out here. Where are we going?" His voice was so innocent, so fragile, and yet Aragorn was tempted to snap his neck for his stupidity.

"Back to your room. If I must keep my promises to you, so too must you keep yours to me."

Elrond's hand caught the back of Aragorn's tunic. "Estel -" he knew that something was amiss, as Elrond rarely used his childhood name in front of outsiders - "you are going mad from exhaustion, or some sort of misguided loyalty to the little one. Give him to me and restore your grip on yourself."

"You cannot have him. I must protect him. It is my responsibility. I have already failed him enough. Do not make me fail him again. This I must do," he whispered, turning and walking slowly toward the path that would lead back to the bedroom.

"Why must you guard him all hours of the day? He is not in any danger here, and if anything were to befall him, we will rouse you immediately, before any others. You must understand this madness before it consumes you, Estel. If you desire the Ring, you should know now that it will never be yours, and you would be asked to leave this place if that were the case. Is that what goes on here?" Elrond murmured, and to Aragorn's immediate rage, the Elf Lord began to follow down the hallway.

Frodo was silent in Aragorn's arms through all this. When Aragorn looked down, concerned, he realized the Hobbit was asleep. "I do not understand myself, Elrond, but I cannot deny it. It is not the Ring that calls to me - it is Frodo himself. Do not ask me to explain it, but do not prevent me, either. I must stay with him."

Elrond shook his head slowly. "You are hurting yourself with your commitment, and I cannot allow you to drive yourself to ruin for the bearer of the Ring. Give him to me," he ordered.

"No! You will not take Frodo from me!" Aragorn exclaimed, pulling the Hobbit close to his chest and stroking his hair, cradling the little Frodo in one arm.

"Estel, I command you to give him to me before you kill him or yourself. Give Frodo to me." His body could not resist that voice, even though the mind knew he would regret it almost instantly. With a bit of fighting, Elrond managed to wrest Frodo away and cradle him in his own arms. "Do not return here until you know what demons chase you toward insanity."

The elf he had taken Frodo from was there to gently remove him from the presence of the Hobbit. "No! No, you will hurt him, you will let him die! Do not hurt him, please. I cannot bear it," Aragorn whispered gently. "How will I know that he is alright, if I am forced to stay away? You pain me too greatly, Elrond. A craven part of me tells me that I must guard him!"

Elrond shook his head, still walking back toward the garden. "Find that part and quell its desires, Estel. That is what you must do, not kill yourself to watch one who does not need watching. Go," the Elf Lord commanded, and to his dismay, the other elf began dragging him when his feet would not move.

He was dragged all the way to his childhood bedroom and pushed in gently, and when the door was shut, a loud click made it evident that the door had been locked. Elrond had lied to him, then - he had told him that the lock had been removed when he was fourteen. "I must guard him," he whispered at the door, smacking his fist gently against it.

How was he to sleep now? At least when he was on the pallet in Frodo's room, the Hobbit was near, allowing Aragorn to reassure himself whenever necessary that the Hobbit was still healing. Now, he was so far away that if a Ringwraith were to break in and stab him again, the screams would not even be heard.

That was the intent of the exercise, was it not? To break the strange one-sided attachment that had grown between him and Frodo? It would not work. All he could think of was several different horrific scenarios - Frodo tried to stand and fell, landing on his shoulder, or worse, a knife. Frodo grew impatient with healing and put on the Ring. Samwise lost his mind and murdered Frodo while Aragorn slept -

If anyone was losing his mind, it was Aragorn, not the ever-reliable Samwise. What was driving him toward this Hobbit? Certainly, this went far beyond average loyalty to a cause. After all, Samwise was totally loyal to his master, and yet he had no such problems as Aragorn did. He found himself imagining Frodo - healthy, completely uninjured, sleeping in his arms, his childlike face carrying just the hint of a smile -

What was he thinking? Frodo would never be hale again. That wound would haunt him wherever he traveled, a constant reminder of the danger he faced as Ringbearer. And to think, the poor boy was barely out of childhood. He still looked like a child, much of the time, with sweet and innocent eyes that shone up at him brightly -

And now he could not guard him. Certainly Samwise, Merry, Pippin, Gandalf, Bilbo, Elrond and the other elves could watch over the little Hobbit, but they could not keep him entirely safe. Aragorn needed to be with him, for whatever reason, and was being denied that.

Hours he spent trying to sleep on the overly plush bed, tossing and turning, worrying madly, but the exhaustion was kept at bay by anxiety. At one point, Elrond entered, holding a tray of hot food, but Aragorn growled wordlessly and rolled on the bed.

"Estel, you need to sleep. Once you have slept, you will know better what causes this … compulsion within you. Frodo has told me that he wishes you would rest and recover as he himself does." He paused for a moment. "If you sleep and eat, you may visit him for a short while," he promised quietly.

That promise was more than enough to soothe Aragorn, so he took the food and ate it quickly. "You will come and wake me in an hour or two so I may go see him?" he asked, looking down at the floor. It was embarrassing, to have to beg for something so ridiculous.

"I will come back tomorrow. Judging by the circles under your eyes, you need that much sleep at least to recover what you missed over the last days. Understand, Aragorn, I do not wish to punish you, but to help you. Until tomorrow, you may ease your worries for a time."

Elrond did not depart until he was certain Aragorn was slumbering deeply on the bed.


End file.
